7 3.3 



77 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT* 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT, 



OTHER POEMS 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 



NDON: 
H. G. CL CO., 66, OLD PAILEY, 



,1 






CONTENTS. 

[emoir ix. 

reface xi. 

relude xxiii. 

VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 

ymn to the Night 31 

Psalm of Life . . , 33 

le Reaper and the Flowers 35 

le Light of Stars 37 

otsteps of Angels 39 



Vlll. CONTENTS. 

The Goblet of Life 131 

God's Acre 134 

Maidenhood 135 

Song of the Bell 138 

L'Envoi 140 



MEMOIR. 



Professor Longfellow was born in the city of Port- 
land, on the twenty-seventh day of February, 1807. 
He entered Bowdoin College in his fourteenth year, 
and took his Bachelor's degree at that seminary in 
1825. In the following spring he went to Europe, vi- 
sited France, Spain, Italy, and Germany ; studied at 
Gottingen ; and, passing through England on his re- 
turn, reached home in the summer of 1829. He was 
soon after appointed Professor of Modern Languages 
in Bowdoin College, and in 1831 was married. In 1835 
he resigned his professorship, and went a second time 
to Europe, to study the languages and literature of the 
northern nations. He passed the summer in Denmark 
and Sweden ; the autumn and winter in Germany — 
losing in that period his wife, who died suddenly at 
Heidelberg — and the following spring and summer in 
the Tyrol and Switzerland. He returned to the United 
States in October, 1836, and immediately afterwards 
entered upon his duties as Professor of the French and 
Spanish Languages in Harvard College, at Cambridge . 



The earliest of Longfellow's metrical compositions 
were written while he was an undergraduate at Bruns- 
wick, for " The United States' Literary Gazette ; " and 
from that period he has been known as a poet, and his 
effusions, improving as each year added to his scholar- 
ship and taste, have been extensively read and admired. 

Longfellow's works are eminently picturesque, and 
are distinguished for nicety of epithet, and elaborate, 
scholarly finish. He has feeling, a rich imagination, 
and a cultivated taste. He is one of the very small 
number of American poets who have " written for pos- 
terity." 

RUFUS WILLMOT GRISWOLD. 



PREFACE. 



There is one poem in this volume, in reference to 
which a few introductory remarks may he useful. It 
is The Children of the Lord's Supper, from the Swedish 
of Bishop Tegner ; a poem which enjoys no inconsider- 
able reputation in the North of Europe, and for its 
beauty and simplicity merits the attention of English 
readers. It is an Idyl, descriptive of scenes in a Swe- 
dish village ; and belongs to the same class of poems, 
as the Luise of Voss and the Hermann und Dorothea of 
Gothe. But the Swedish poet has been guided by a 
surer taste, than his German predecessors. His tone 
is pure and elevated ; and he rarely, if ever, mistakes 
what is trivial for what is simple. 

There is something patriarchal still lingering about 
rural life in Sweden, which renders it a fit theme for 



song. Almost primeval simplicity reigns over that 
Northern land, — almost primeval solitude and stillness, 
You pass out from the gate of the city, and, as if by 
magic, the scene changes to a wild, woodland landscape. 
Around you are forests of fir. Over head hang the long, 
fan -like branches, trailing with moss, and heavy with 
red and blue cones. Under foot is a carpet of yellow 
leaves ; and the air is warm and balmy. On a wooden 
bridge you cross a little silver stream ; and anon come 
forth into a pleasant and sunny land of farms. Wooden 
fences divide the adjoining fields. Across the road are 
gates, which are opened by troops of children. The 
peasants take oft their hats as you pass ; you sneeze, 
and they cry, " God bless you." The houses in the 
villages and smaller towns are all built of hewn timber, 
and for the most part painted red. The floors of the 
taverns are strewed with the fragrant tips of fir boughs. 
In many villages there are no taverns, and the peasants 
take turns in receiving travellers. The thrifty house- 
wife shows you into the best chamber, the walls of 
which are hung round with rude pictures from the Bi- 
ble ; and brings you her heavy silver spoons, — an heir- 
loom, — to dip the curdled milk from the pan. You 
have oaten cakes baked some months before ; or bread 
with anise-seed and coriander in it, or perhaps a little 
pine bark. 



Meanwhile the sturdy husband has brought his horses 
from the plough, and harnessed them to your carriage. 
Solitary travellers come and go in uncouth one horse 
chaises. Most of them have pipes in their mouths, and 
hanging around their necks in front, a leather wallet, 
in which they carry tobacco, and the great bank-notes 
of the country, as large as your two hands. You meet, 
also, groups of Dalekarlian peasant women, travelling 
homeward, or town-ward in pursuit of work. They 
walk barefoot, carrying in their hands their shoes, 
which have high heels under the hollow of the foot, 
and soles of birch bark. 

Frequent, too, are the village churches, standing 
by the road-side, each in its own little garden of Geth* 
semane. In the parish register great events are doubt- 
less recorded. Some old king was christened or buried 
in that church ; and a little sexton, with a rusty key, 
shows you the baptismal font, or the coffin. In the 
church- yard are a few flowers, and much green grass; 
and daily the shadow of the church spire, with its long 
tapering finger, counts the tombs, representing a dial- 
plate of human life, on which the hours and minutes 
are the graves of men. The stones are flat, and large, 
and low, and perhaps sunken, like the roofs of old 
houses. On some are armorial bearings ; on others 
only the initials of the poor tenants, with a date, as 
on the roofs of Dutch cottages. They all sleep with 



their heads to the westward. Each held a lighted ta- 
per in his hand when he died ; and in his cofin were 
placed his little heart- treasures, and a piece of money 
for his last journey. Babes that came lifeless into the 
world were carried in the arms of gray-haired old men 
to the only cradle they ever slept in ; and in the shroud 
of the dead mother were laid the little garments of the 
child, that lived and died in her bosom. And over 
this scene the village pastor looks from his window in 
the stillness of midnight, and says in his heart, " How 
quietly they rest, all the departed ! " 

Near the church-yard gate stands a poor-box, fast- 
ened to a post by iron bands, and secured by a padlock 
with a sloping wooden roof to keep off the rain. If it 
be Sunday, the peasants sit on the church steps and 
con their psalm-books. Others are coming down the 
road with their beloved pastor, who talks to them of 
holy things from beneath his broad-brimmed hat. He 
speaks of fields and harvests, and of the parable of the 
sower, that went forth to sow. He leads them to the 
Good Shepherd, and to the pleasant pastures of the 
spirit-land. He is their patriarch, and, like Melchi- 
zedek, both priest and king, though he has no other 
throne than the church pulpit. The women carry 
psalm-books in their hands, wrapped in silk handker- 
chiefs, and listen devoutly to the good man's words, 
but the young men, like Gallio, care for none of these 



PREFACE. 



things. They are busy counting the plaits in the kir- 
tles of the peasant girls, their number being an indi- 
cation of the wearer's wealth. It may end in a wed- 
ding. 

I will endeavour to describe a village wedding in 
Sweden. It shall be in summer time, that there may 
be flowers, and in a southern province, that the bride 
may be fair. The early song of the lark and of chan- 
ticleer are mingling in the clear morning air, and the 
sun, the heavenly bridegroom with golden locks, arises 
in the east, just as our earthly bridegroom with yellow 
hair, arises in the south. In the yard there is a sound 
of voices and trampling of hoofs, and horses are led 
forth and saddled. The steed that is to bear the bride- 
groom has a bunch of flowers upon his forehead, and a 
garland of corn-flowers around his neck. Friends from 
the neighbouring farms come riding in, their blue 
cloaks streaming to the wind ; and finally the happy 
bridegroom, with a whip in his hand, and a monstrous 
nosegay in the breast of his black jacket, comes forth 
from his chamber ; and then to horse and away, towards 
the village where the bride already sits and waits. 

Foremost rides the Spokesman, followed by some 
half dozen village musicians. Next comes the bride- 
groom between his two groomsmen, and then forty or 
fifty friends and wedding guests, half of them perhaps 
with pistols and guns in their hands. A kind of bag- 



XVI. 



gage-wagon brings up the rear, laden with food and 
drink for these merry pilgrims. At the entrance of 
every village stands a triumphal arch, adorned with 
flowers and ribands and evergreens ; and as they pass 
beneath it the wedding guests fire a salute, and the 
whole procession stops. And straight from every pocket 
flies a black-jack, filled with punch or brandy. It is 
passed from hand to hand among the crowd ; provisions 
are brought from the wagon, and after eating and drink- 
ing and hurrahing, the procession moves forward again, 
and at length draws near the house of the bride. Four 
heralds ride forward to announce that a knight and his 
attendants are in the neighbouring forest, and pray for 
hospitality. " How many are you? " asks the bride*s 
father. " At least three hundred," is the answer ; and 
to this the host replies, " Yes ; were you seven times 
as many, you should all be welcome; and in token 
thereof receive this cup." Whereupon each herald 
receives a can of ale ; and soon after the whole jovial 
company comes storming into the farmer's yard, and 
riding round the May-pole, which stands in the centre, 
alights amid a grand salute and flourish of music. 

In the hall sits the bride, with a crown upon her 
head and a tear in her eye, like the Virgin Mary in 
old church paintings. She is dressed in a red boddice 
and kirtle, with loose linen sleeves. There is a gilded 
belt around her waist ; and around her neck strings of 



golden beads, and a golden chain. On the crown rests 
a wreath of wild roses, and below it another of cypress. 
Loose over her shoulders falls her flaxen hair ; and her 
blue innocent eyes are fixed upon the ground. O thou 
good soul ! thou hast hard hands, but a soft heart I 
Thou art poor. The very ornaments thou wearest are 
not thine. They have been hired for this great day. 
Yet thou art rich ; rich in health, rich in hope, rich in 
thy first, young, fervent love. The blessing of heaven 
be upon thee ! So thinks the parish priest, as he joins 
together the hands of bride and bridegroom, saying in 
deep, solemn tones, — " I give thee in marriage this 
damsel, to be thy wedded wife in all honor, and to 
share the half of thy bed, thy lock and key, and every 
third penny which you two may possess, or may inherit, 
and all the rights which Upland's laws provide, and the 
holy king Erik gave." 

The dinner is now served, and the bride sits between 
the bridegroom and the priest. The Spokesman deli- 
vers an oration after the ancient custom of his father?. 
He interlards it well with quotations from the Bible ; 
and invites the Saviour to be present at this marriage 
feast, as he was at the marriage feast of Cana of Galilee. 
The table is not sparingly set forth. Each makes a 
long arm, and the feast goes cheerly on. Punch and 
brandy pass round between the courses, and here and 
there a pipe is smoked, while waiting for the next dish. 

B 



They sit long at table ; but, as all things must have an 
end, so must a Swedisli dinner. Then the dance begins* 
It is led off by the bride and the priest, who perform a 
solemn minuet together. Not till after midnight comes 
the Last Dance. The girls form a ring around the 
bride, to keep her from the hands of the married wo- 
men, who endeavour to break through the magic circle, 
and seize their new sister. After long struggling they 
succeed ; and the crown is taken from her head and 
the jewels from her neck, and her boddice is unlaced 
and her kirtle taken off; and like a vestal virgin clad 
all in white she goes, but it is to her marriage chamber, 
not to her grave ; and the wedding guests follow her 
with lighted candles in their hands. And this is a vil- 
lage bridal. 

Nor must I forget the suddenly changing seasons of 
the Northern clime. There is no long and lingering 
spring, unfolding leaf and blossom one by one ; — no 
long and lingering autumn, pompous with many-colored 
leaves and the glow of Indian summers. But winter 
and summer are wonderful, and pass into each other. 
The quail has hardly ceased piping in the corn, when 
winter from the folds of trailing clouds, sows broad-cast 
over the land, snow, icicles, and rattling hail. The days 
wane apace. Ere long the sun hardly rises above the 
horizon, or does not rise at all. The moon and the 
stars shine through the day ; only, at noon, they are 



pale and wan, and in the southern sky a red, fiery glow, 
as of sunset, burns along the horizon, and then goes 
out. And pleasantly under the silver moon, and un- 
der the silent, solemn stars, ring the steel-shoes of the 
skaters on the frozen sea, and voices, and the sound 
of bells. 

And now the Northern Lights begin to burn, faintly 
at first, like sunbeams playing in the waters of the blue 
sea. Then a soft crimson glow tinges the heavens. 
There is a blush on the cheek of night. The colors 
come and go ; and change from crimson to gold, from 
gold to crimson. The snow is stained with rosy light. 
Twofold from the zenith, east and west, flames a fiery 
sword ; and a broad band passes athwart the heavens. 
like a summer sunset. Soft purple clouds come sailing 
over the sky, and through their vapoury folds the wink- 
ing stars shine, white as silver. With such pomp as 
this is Merry Christmas ushered in, though only a sin- 
gle star heralded the first Christmas. And in memory 
of that day the Swedish peasants dance on straw; and 
the peasant girls throw straws at the timbered roof of 
the hall, and for every one that sticks in a crack shall 
a groomsman come to their wedding. Merry Christ- 
mas indeed ! For pious souls there shaH be church 
songs and sermons, but for Swedish peasants, brandy 
and nut brown ale in wooden bowls ; and the great 
Yulecake crowned with a cheese, and garlanded with 



XX. 



apples, and upholding a three-armed candlestick over 
the Christmas feast. They may tell tales, too, of Jons 
Lundsbracka, and Lunkenfus, and the great Riddar 
Finke of Pingsdaga.* 

And now the glad, leafy mid-summer, full of blossoms 
and the song of nightingales is come ! Saint John has 
taken the flowers and festival of heathen Balder ; and 
in every village there is a May-pole fifty feet high, with 
wreaths and roses and ribands streaming in the wind, 
and a noisy weathercock on top, to tell the village 
whence the wind cometh and whither it goeth. The 
sun does not set till ten o'clock at night; and the chil- 
dren are at play in the streets an hour later. The win- 
dows and doors are all open, and you may sit and read 
till midnight without a candle. O how beautiful is the 
summer night, which is not night, but a sunless yet 
unclouded day, descending upon earth with dews, and 
shadows, and refreshing coolness ! How beautiful the 
long, mild twilight, which like a silver clasp unites to- 
day with yesterday ! How beautiful the silent hour, 
when Morning and Evening thus sit together, hand in 
hand, beneath the starless sky of midnight ! From the 
church-tower in the public square the bell tolls the 
hour, with a soft, musical chime ; and the watchman, 
whose watch-tower is the belfry, blows a blast in his 

* Titles of Swedish popular tales. 



horn, for each stroke of the hammer, and four times, 

to the four corners of the heavens, in a sonorous voice 

he chaunts, — 

"Ho! watchman, ho ! 
Twelve is the clock ! 
God keep our town 
From fire and brand 
And hostile hand ! 
Twelve is the clock ! " 

From his swallow's nest in the belfry he can see the 
sun all night long ; and farther north the priest stands 
at his door in the warm midnight, and lights his pipe 
with a common burning glass. 

I trust that these remarks will not be deemed irrele - 
vant to the poem, but will lead to a clearer understand- 
ing of it The translation is literal, perhaps to a fault. 
In no instance have I done the author a wrong, by in- 
troducing into his work any supposed improvements or 
embellishments of my own. 1 have preserved even the 
measure ; that inexorable hexameter, in which, it must 
be confessed, the motions of the English Muse are not 
unlike those of a prisoner dancing to the music of his 
chains ; and perhaps, as Dr. Johnson said of the danc- 
ing dog, " the wonder is not that she should do it so 
well, but that she should do it at all." 

Esaias Tegner, the author of this poem, was born in 
the parish of By in Warmland, in the year 1782. In 
1799 he entered the University of Lund as a student ; 



and in 1812 was appointed Professor of Greek in that 
institution. In 1824 he became Bishop of Wexio, 
which office he still holds. He stands first among all 
the poets of Sweden, living or dead. His principal 
work is Frithiofs' Saga ; one of the most remarkable 
poems of the age. This modern Scald has written his 
name in immortal runes. He is the glory and boast of 
Sweden ; a prophet, honored in his own country, and 
adding one more to the list of great names, that adorn 
her history. 






PRELUDE. 



Pleasant it was, wheu woods were green, 

And winds were soft and low, 
To lie amid some sylvan scene, 
Where the long drooping boughs between, 
Shadows dark and sunlight sheen 

Alternate come and go ; 

Or where the denser grove receives 

No sunlight from above, 
But the dark foliage interweaves 
In one unbroken roof of leaves, 
Underneath whose slooping eaves 

The shadows hardly move. 



V. PRELUDE. 

Beneath some patriarchal tree 

I lay upon the ground ; 
His hoary arms uplifted he, 
And all the broad leaves over me 
Clapped their little hands in glee, 

With one continuous sound ; — 

A slumberous sound, — a sound that brings 

The feelings of a dream, — 
As of innumerable wings, 
As, when a bell no longer swings, 
Faint the hollow murmur rings 

O'er meadow, lake, and stream. 

And dreams of that which cannot die, 

Bright visions, came to me, 
As lapped in thought I used to lie, 
And gaze into the summer sky, 
Where the sailing clouds went by> 

Like ships upon the sea ; 

Dreams that the soul of youth engage 

Ere Fancy has been quelled ;. 
Old legends of the monkish page,. 
Traditions of the saint and sage, 
Tales that have the rime of age. 

And chronicles of Eld, 



PRELUDE. 

And, loving still these quaint old themes, 

Even in the city's throng 
I feel the freshness of the streams, 
That, crossed by shades and sunny gleams, 
Water the green land of dreams, 

The holy land of song. 

Therefore, at Pentecost, which brings 
The Spring, clothed like a bride, 

When nestling buds unfold their wings, 

And bishop's-caps have golden rings, 

Musing upon many things, 
I sought the woodlands wide. 

The green trees whispered low and mild ; 

It was a sound of joy ! 
They were my playmates when a child, 
And rocked me in their arms so wild ! 
Still they looked at me and smiled, 

As if I were a boy ; 

And ever whispered, mild and low, 
" Come be a child once more ! " 

And waved their long arms to and fro, 

And beckoned solemnly and slow ; 

O, I could not choose but go 
Into the woodlands hoar ; 



Into the blithe and breathing air, 

Into the solemn wood, 
Solemn and silent everywhere ! 
Nature with folded hands seemed there, 
Kneeling at her evening prayer ! 

Like one in prayer I stood. 

Before me rose an avenue 
Of tall and sombrous pines ; 

Abroad their fan- like branches grew, 

And where the sunshine darted through 

Spread a vapor soft and blue, 
In long and sloping lines. 

And, falling on my weary brain, 

Like a fast-falling shower, 
The dreams of youth came back again ; 
Low lispings of the summer rain, 
Dropping on the ripened grain, 

As once upon the flower. 

Visions of childhood ! Stay, O stay ! 

Ye were so sweet and wild : 
And distant voices seemed to say, 
" It cannot be I They pass away ! 
Other themes demand thy lay ; 

Thou art no more a child ! 



" The land of Song within thee lies, 

Watered by living springs ; 
The lids of Fancy's sleepless eyes 
Are gates unto that Paradise, 
Holy thoughts, like stars, arise, 

Its clouds are angels' wings. 

" Learn, that henceforth thy song shall be, 
Not mountains capped with snow, 

Nor forests sounding like the sea, 

Nor rivers flowing ceaselessly, 

Where the woodlands bend to see 
The bending heavens below. 

" There is a forest where the din 

Of iron branches sounds ! 
A mighty river roars between, 
And whosoever looks therein, 
Sees the heavens all black with sin, — 

Sees not its depths, nor bounds. 

" Athwart the swinging branches cast, 

Soft rays of sunshine pour ; 
Then comes the fearful wintry blast ; 
Our hopes, like whithered leaves, fall fast ; 
Pallid lips say, ' It is past ! 

We can return no more ! ' 



" Look, then, into thine heart, and write ! 

Yes, into Life's deep stream ! 
All forms of sorrow and delight, 
All solemn Voices of the Night, 
That can soothe thee, or affright, — 

Be these henceforth thy theme." 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 



HYMN TO THE NIGHT. 



I beard the trailing garments of the Night 
Sweep through the marble halls ! 

I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light 
From the celestial walls ! 

I felt her presence, by its spell of might, 

Stoop o'er me from above ; 
The calm majestic presence of the Night, 

As of the one I love. 

I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight, 

The manifold, soft chimes, 
That rill the haunted chambers of the Night, 

Like some old poet's rhymes. 



32 VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 

From the cool cisterns of the midnight air 

My spirit drank repose ; 
The fountain of perpetual peace flows there, — 

From those deep cisterns flows. 

O holy Night ! from thee I learn to bear 

What man has borne before ! 
Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care, 

And they complain no more. 

Peace ! Peace ! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer ! 

Descend with broad-winged flight, 
The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair, 

The best-beloved, Night ! 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 33 



A PSALM OF LIFE. 



WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAM SAID TO 
THE PSALMIST. 



Tell me not, in mournful numbers, 
" Life is but an empty dream !" 

For the soul is dead that slumbers, 
And things are not what they seem. 

Life is real ! Life is earnest ! 

And the grave is not its goal ; 
" Dust thou art, to dust returnest," 

Was not spoken of the soul. 

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 

Is our destined end or way ; 
But to act, that each to-morrow 

Find us farther than to-day. 

Art is long, and Time is fleeting, 

And our hearts, though stout and brave, 

Still, like muffled drums, are beating 
Funeral marches to the grave, 
c 



34 VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 

In the world's broad field of battle, 

In the bivouac of Life, 
Be not like dumb, driven cattle ! 

Be a hero in the strife ! 

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! 

Let the dead Past bury its dead ! 
Act, — act in the living Present ! 

Heart within, and God o'erhead ! 

Lives of great men all remind us 
We can make our lives sublime, 
*And, departing, leave behind us 
Footsteps on the sands of time ; 

' Footprints, that perhaps another, 
Sailing o'er life's solemn main, 
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, 
Seeing, shall take heart again. 

Let us, then, be up and doing, 
With a heart for any fate ; 

Still achieving, still pursuing, 
Learn to labor and to wait 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 35 



THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS. 



There is a Reaper, whose name is Death, 

And, with his sickle keen, 
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, 

And the flowers that grow between. 

" Shall I have nought that is fair 1 " saith he ; 

" Have nought but the bearded grain? 
Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, 

I will give them all back again." 

He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, 

He kissed their drooping leaves ; 
It was for the Lord of Paradise 

He bound them in his sheaves. 

" My Lord hath need of these flowrets gay," 

The Reaper said, and smiled ; 
" Dear tokens of the earth are they, 

Where he was once a child. 



36 VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 

" They shall all bloom in fields of light, 

Transplanted by my care, 
And saints, upon their garments white, 

These sacred blossoms wear." 

And the mother gave, in tears and pain, 
The flowers she most did love ; 

She knew she should find them all again 
In the fields of light above. 

O, not in cruelty, not in wrath, 
The Reaper came that day ; 

'T was an angel visited the green earth, 
And took the flowers away. 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 37 



THE LIGHT OF STARS. 



The night is come, but not too soon ; 

And sinking silently, 
All silently, the little moon 

Drops down behind the sky. 

There is no light in earth or heaven, 
But the cold light of stars ; 

And the first watch of night is given 
To the red planet Mars. 

Is it the tender star of love 1 
The star of love and dreams ? 

O no ! for that blue tent above, 
A hero's armour gleams. 

And earnest thoughts within me rise, 

When I behold afar, 
-Suspended in the evening skies, 

The shield of that red star. 



38 VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 

star of strength ! I see thee stand 
And smile upon my pain ; 

Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand, 
And I am strong again. 

Within my breast there is no light, 
But the cold light of stars ; 

1 give the first watch of the night 
To the red planet Mars. 

The star of the unconquered will, 

He rises in my breast, 
Serene, and resolute, and still, 

And calm, and self-possessed. 

And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art, 
That readest this brief psalm, 

As one by one thy hopes depart, 
Be resolute and calm. 

O fear not in a world like this, 
And thou shalt know ere long, 

Know how sublime a thing it is 
To suffer and be strong. 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 39 



X FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS. 



When the hours of Day are numbered, 

And the voices of the Night 
Wake the better soul, that slumbered, 

To a holy, calm delight ; 

Ere the evening lamps are lighted, 
And, like phantoms grim and tall, 

Shadows from the fitful fire-light 
Dance upon the parlour wall ; 

Then the forms of the departed 

Enter at the open door ; 
The beloved, the true-hearted, 

Come to visit me once more ; 

He, the young- and strong, who cherished 
Noble longings for the strife, 

By the road- side fell and perished, 
Weary with the march of life ! 



40 VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 

They, the holy ones and weakly, 
Who the cross of suffering bore, 

Folded their pale hands so meekly, 
Spake with us on earth no more ! 

And with them the Being Beauteous, 
Who unto my youth was given, 

More than all things else to love me, 
And is now a saint in heaven. 

With a slow and noiseless footstep 
Comes that messenger divine, 

Takes the vacant chair beside me, 
Lays her gentle hand in mine. 

And she sits and gazes at me 

With those deep and tender eyes, 

Like the stars, so still and saint-like, 
Looking downward from the skies. 

Uttered not, yet comprehended, 
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer, 

Soft rebukes, in blessings ended, 
Breathing from her lips of air. 

O, though oft depressed and lonely, 
All my fears are laid aside, 

If I but remember only 

Such as these have lived and died ! 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 41 



FLOWERS. 



Spake full well, in language quaint and olden, 

One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, 
When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, 
Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine. 

Stars they are, wherein we read our history, 

As astrologers and seers of eld ; 
Yet not wrapped about with aweful mystery, 

Like the burning stars, which they beheld. 

Wonderous truths, and manifold as wonderous, 
God hath written in those stars above ; 

But not less in the bright flowerets under us 
Stands the revelation of his love. 

Bright and glorious is that revelation, 
Written all over this great world of ours ; 

Making evident our own creation, 

In these stars of earth, — these golden flowers* 



42 VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 

And the Poet, faithful and far-seeing, 
Sees, alike in stars and flowers, a part 

Of the self-same, universal being, 

Which is throbbing in his brain and heart. 

Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight shining, 
Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day, 

Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining, 
Buds that open only to decay ; 

Brilliant hopes, all woven in gorgeous tissues, 
Flaunting gayly in the golden light ; 

Large desires, with most uncertain issues, 
Tender wishes, blossoming at night ! 

These in flowers and men are more than seeming ; 

Workings are they of the self-same powers, 
Which the Poet, in no idle dreaming, 

Seeth in himself and in the flowers. 

Everywhere about us are they glowing, 
Some like stars, to tell us Spring is born ; 

Others, their blue eyes with tears o'erflowing, 
Stand like Ruth amid the golden corn; 

Not alone in Spring's armorial bearing, 
And in Summer's green- emblazoned field, 

But in arms of brave old Autumn's wearing, 
In the centre of his brazen shield : 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 43 

Not alone in meadows and green alleys, 
On the mountain-top, and by the brink 

Of sequestered pools in woodland valleys, 
Where the slaves of Nature stoop to drink ; 

Not alone in her vast dome of glory, 

Not on graves of bird and beast alone, 
But on old cathedrals, high and hoary, 

On the tombs of heroes, carved in stone ; 

In the cottage of the rudest peasant, 

In ancestral homes, whose crumbling towers, 

Speaking of the Past unto the Present, 
Tell us of the ancient Games of Flowers ; 

In all places, then, and in all seasons, 

Flowers expand their light and soul-like wings, 

Teaching us, by most persuasive reasons, 
How akin they are to human things. 

And with child-like, credulous affection 

We behold their tender buds expand ; 
Emblems of our own great resurrection, 

Emblems of the bright and better land. 



44 VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 



THE BELEAGUERED CITY. 



I have read, in some old marvellous tale, 
Some legend strange and vague, 

That a midnight host of spectres pale 
Beleaguered the walls of Prague. 

Beside the Moldau's rushing stream, 
With the wan moon overhead, 

There stood, as in an awful dream, 
The army of the dead. 

White as a sea-fog, the land ward bound, 
The spectral camp was seen, 

And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, 
The river flowed between. 

No other voice nor sound was there, 
No drum, nor centry's pace ; 

The mist-like banners clasped the air, 
As clouds with clouds embrace. 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 45 

But, when the old cathedral bell 

Proclaimed the morning prayer, 
The white pavilions rose and fell 

On the alarmed air. 

Down the broad valley fast and far 

The troubled army fled ; 
Up rose the glorious morning star, 

The ghastly host was dead. 

I have read, in the marvellous heart of man, 

That strange and mystic scroll, 
That an army of phantoms vast and wan 

Beleaguer the human soul. 

Encamped beside Life's rushing stream, 

In Fancy's misty light, 
Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam 

Portentous through the night. 

Upon its midnight battle-ground 

The spectral camp is seen, 
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, 

Flows the river of Life between. 

No other voice, nor sound is there, 

In the army of the grave ; 
No other challenge breaks the air, 

But the rushing of Life's wave. 



46 VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 

And, when the solemn and deep-church-bell 

Entreats the soul to pray, 
The midnight phantoms feel the spell, 

The shadows sweep away. 

Down the broad Vale of Tears afar 

The spectral camp is fled ; 
Faith shineth as a morning star, 

Our ghastly fears are dead. 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 47 



MIDNIGHT MASS FOR THE DYING YEAR. 



Yes, the Year is growing old, 
And his eye is pale and bleared ! 

Death, with frosty hand and cold, 
Plucks the old man by the beard, 
Sorely, — sorely ! 

The leaves are falling, falling, 

Solemnly and slow ; 
" Caw ! caw ! " the rooks are calling, 

It is a sound of woe, 
A sound of woe ! 

Through woods and mountain passes 
The winds, like anthems, roll ; 

They are chanting solemn masses, 
Singing ; " Pray for this poor soul ; 
Pray, — pray! " 



48 VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 

And the hooded clouds, like friars, 
Tell their beads in drops of rain, 

And patter their doleful prayers ; — 
But their prayers are all in vain, 
All in vain ! 

There he stands in the foul weather, 

The foolish, fond Old Year, 
Crowned with wild flowers and with heather, 

Like weak, despised Lear, 
A king, — a king ! 

Then comes the summer-like day, 

Bids the old man rejoice ! 
His joy ! his last ! O, the old man gray, 

Loveth that ever-soft voice, 
Gentle and low. 

To the crimson woods he saith, — 

To the voice gentle and low 
Of the soft air, like a daughter's breath, — 

" Pray do not mock me so ! 
Do not laugh at me ! " 

And now the sweet day is dead ; 

Cold in his arms it lies ; 
No stain from his breath is spread 

Over the glassy skies, 
No mist or stain ! 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 49 

Then, too, the Old Year dieth, 

And the forests utter a moan, 
Like the voice of one who crieth 

In the wilderness alone, 
" Vex not his ghost ! " 

Then comes, with an awful roar, 

Gathering and sounding on, 
The storm- wind from Labrador, 

The wind Euroclydon, 
The storm-wind ! 

Howl ! howl ! and from the forest 

Sweep the red leaves away ! 
Would the sins that thou abhorrest, 

O Soul ! could thus decay, 
And be swept away ! 

For there shall come a mightier blast, 

There shall be a darker day ; 
And the stars, from heaven down-cast, 
Like red leaves be swept away ! 
Kyrie, eleyson! 
Christe, eleyson ! 



EARLIER POEMS. 



These Poems were written for the most part during my college 
life, and all of them before the age of nineteen. Some have 
found their way into schools, and seem to he successful. Others 
lead a vagabond and precarious existence in the corners of 
newspapers ; or have changed their names and run away to 
seek their fortunes beyond the sea. I say, with the Bishop of 
Avranches, on a similar occasion; " I cannot be displeased to 
see these children of mine, which I have neglected, and almost 
exposed, brought from their wanderings in lanes and alleys, 
and safely lodged, in order to go forth into the world together 
in a more decorous garb." 



EARLIER POEMS. 



AN APRIL DAY. 

When the warm sun, that brings 
Seed-time and harvest has returned again, 
'T is sweet to visit the still wood, where springs 

The first flower of the plain. 

I love the season well, 
When forest glades are teeming with bright forms, 
Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell 

The coming-on of storms. 

From the earth's loosened mould 
The sapling draws its sustenance, and thrives ; 
Though stricken to the heart with winter's cold, 

The drooping tree revives. 

The softly-warbled song 
Comes from the pleasant woods, and colored wings 
Glance quick in the bright sun, that moves along 

The forest openings. 



54 EARLIER POEMS. 

When the bright sunset fills 
The silver woods with light, the green slope throws 
Its shadows in the hollows of the hills, 
• And wide the upland glows. 

And, when the eve is born, 
In the blue lake the sky, o'er-reaching far, 
Is hollowed out, and the moon dips her horn, 

And twinkles many a star. 

Inverted in the tide, 
Stand the gray rocks, and trembling shadows throw, 
And the fair trees look over, side by side, 

And see themselves below. 

Sweet April ! — many a thought 
Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed ; 
Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought, 

Life's golden fruit is shed. 



EARLIER POEMS. 55 



AUTUMN. 



With what a glory comes and goes the year ! 
The buds of spring, those beautiful harbingers 
Of sunny skies and cloudless times, enjoy 
Life's newness, and earth's garniture spread out; 
And when the silver habit of the clouds 
Comes down upon the autumn sun, and with 
A sober gladness the old year takes up 
His bright inheritance of golden fruits, 
A pomp and pageant fills the splendid scene. 

There is a beautiful spirit breathing now 
Its mellow richness on the clustered trees, 
And, from a beaker full of richest dyes, 
Pouring new glory on the autumn woods, 
And dipping in warm light the pillared clouds. 
Morn on the mountain, like a summer bird, 
Lifts up her purple wing, and in the vales 
The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer, 
\ Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life 
Within the solemn woods of ash deep-crimsoned, 
And silver beech, and maple yellow-leaved, 
Where autumn, like a faint old man, sits down 



£6 EARLIER POEMS. 

By the wayside a- weary. Through the trees 
The golden rohin moves. The purple finch, 
That on wild cherry and red cedar feeds, 
A winter bird, comes with its plaintive whistle, 
And pecks by the witch-hazel, whilst aloud 
From cottage roofs the warbling blue-bird sings, 
And merrily, with oft-repeated stroke, 
Sounds from the threshing-floor the busy flail. 

O what a glory doth this world put on 
For him who, with a fervent heart, goes forth 
Under the bright and glorious sky, and looks 
On duties well performed, and days well spent ! 
For him the wind, ay, and the yellow leaves 
Shall have a voice, and give him eloquent teachings. 
He shall so hear the solemn hymn, that Death 
Has lifted up for all, that he shall go 
To his long resting-place without a tear. 



EARLIER POEMS. 57 



WOODS IN WINTER. 



When winter winds are piercing chill, 

And through the hawthorn blows the gale, 

With solemn feet I tread the hill, 
That overbrows the lonely vale. 

O'er the bare upland, and away 

Through the long reach of desert woods, 

The embracing sunbeams chastely play, 
And gladden these deep solitudes. 

Where, twisted round the barren oak, 
The summer vine in beauty clung, 

And summer winds the stillness broke, 
The crystal icicle is hung. 

Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs 
Pour out the river's gradual tide, 

Shrilly the skater's iron rings, 
And voices fill the woodland side 



58 EARLIER POEMS. 

Alas ! how changed from the fair scene, 
When birds sang out their mellow lay, 

And winds were soft, and woods were green, 
And the song ceased not with the day. 

But still wild music is abroad, 

Pale, desert woods ! within your crowd ; 
And gathering winds, in hoarse accord, 

Amid the vocal reeds pipe aloud. 

Chill airs, and wintry winds ! my ear 
Has grown familiar with your song ; 

I hear it in the opening year, — 
I listen, and it cheers me long. 



EARLIER POEMS. 59 



HYMN 

OF THE MORAVIAN NUNS OF BETHLEHEM, 

AT THE CONSECRATION OF PULASKl'S BANNER. 



When the dying flame of day 
Through the chancel shot its ray, 
Far the glimmering tapers shed 
Faint light on the cowled head ; 
And the censer burning swung, 
Where, before the altar, hung 
The blood-red banner, that with prayer 
Had been consecrated there. 
And the nun's sweet hymn was heard the while, 
Sung low in the dim, mysterious aisle. 

" Take thy banner ! May it wave 
Proudly o'er the good and brave ; 
When the battle's distant wail 
Breaks the sabbath of our vale, 
When the clarion's music thrills 
To the hearts of these lone hills, 
When the spear in conflict shakes, 
And the strong lance shivering breaks. 



60 EARLIER POEMS. 

" Take thy banner ! and, beneath 
The battle-cloud's encircling wreath, 
Guard it ! — till our homes are free ! 
Guard it ! — God will prosper thee ! 
In the dark and trying hour, 
In the breaking forth of power, 
In the rush of steeds and men, 
His right hand will shield thee then. 

" Take thy banner ! but, when night 
Closes round the ghastly fight, 
If the vanquished warrior bow, 
Spare him ! — By our holy vow, 
By our prayers and many tears, 
By the mercy that endears, 
Spare him ! — he our love hath shared ! 
Spare him ! — as thou wouldst be spared ! 

" Take thy banner ! — and if e'er 
Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier, 
And the muffled drum should beat 
To the tread of mournful feet, 
Then this crimson flag shall be 
Martial cloak and shroud for thee." 



The warrior took that banner proud, 
And it was his martial cloak and shroud ! 



EARLIER POEMS. 61 



SUNRISE ON THE HILLS. 



I stood upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch 

Was glorious with the sun's returning march, 

And woods were brightened, and soft gales 

Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales. 

The clouds were far beneath me ; — bathed in light, 

They gathered mid-way round the wooded height, 

And, in their fading glory, shone 

Like hosts in battle overthrown, 

As many a pinnacle, with shifting glance, 

Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance, 

And rocking on the cliff was left 

The dark pine blasted, bare, and cleft. 

The veil of cloud was lifted, and below 

Glowed the rich valley, and the liver's flow 

Was darkened by the forest's shade 

Or glistened in the white cascade ; 

Where upward, in the mellow blush of day, 

The noisy bittern wheeled his spiral way. 

I heard the distant waters dash, 
I saw the current whirl and flash, — 



62 EARLIER POEMS. 

And richly, by the blue lake's silver beach, 

The woods were bending with a silent reach. 

Then o'er the vale, with gentle swell, 

The music of the village bell 

Came sweetly to the echo-giving hills ; 

And the wild horn, whose voice the woodland fills. 

Was ringing to the merry shout, 

That faint and far the glen sent out, 

Where, answering to the sudden shot, thin smoke, 

Through thick-leaved branches, from the dingle broke. 

If thou art worn and hard beset 
With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget, 
If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will keep 
Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep, 
Go to the woods and hills ! — No tears 
Dim the sweet look that Nature wears. 



EARLIER POEMS. 63 



SPIRIT OF POETRY. 



There is a quiet spirit in these woods, 
That dwells where'er the gentle south wind blows; 
Where, underneath the white-thorn, in the glade, 
The wild flowers bloom, or, kissing the soft air, 
The leaves above their sunny palms outspread. 
With what a tender and impassioned voice 
It fills the nice and delicate ear of thought, 
When the fast-ushering star of morning comes 
O'er-riding the gray hills with golden scarf; 
Or when the cowled and dusky-sandaled Eve, 
In mourning weeds, from out the western gate, 
Departs with silent pace ! That spirit moves 
In the green valley, where the silver brook, 
From its full laver, pours the white cascade ; 
And, babbling low amid the tangled woods, 
Slips down through moss-grown stones with endless 

laughter. 
And frequent, on the everlasting hills, 
Its ftet go forth, when it doth wrap itself 



64 EARLIER POEMS. 

In all the dark embroidery of the storm, 
And shouts the stern, strong wind. And here, amid 
The silent majesty of these deep woods, 
Its presence shall uplift thy thoughts from earth, 
As to the sunshine and the pure, bright air 
Their tops the green trees lift. Hence gifted bards 
Have ever loved the calm and quiet shades. 
For them there was an eloquent voice in all 
The sylvan pomp of woods, the golden sun, 
The flowers, the leaves, the river on its way, 
Blue skies, and silver clouds, and gentle winds, — 
The swelling upland, where the sidelong sun 
Aslant the wooded slope, at evening, goes, — 
Groves, through whose broken roof the sky looks in, 
Mountain, and shattered cliff, and sunny vale, 
The distant lake, fountains, — and mighty trees, 
l In many a lazy syllable, repeating 
Their old poetic legends to the wind. 



And this is the sweet spirit, that doth fill 
The world ; and, in these wayward days of youth, 
My busy fancy oft embodies it, 
As a brigh image of the light and beauty 
That dwell in nature, — of the heavenly forms 
We worship in our dreams, and the soft hues 
That stain the wild bird's.wing, and flush the clouds 
When the sun sets. Within her eye 
The heaven of April, with its changing light, 
And when it wears the blue of May, is hung, 
And on her lip the rich, red rose. Her hair 



EARLIER POEMS. 65 

Is like the summer tresses of the trees, 

When twilight makes them brown, and on her cheek 

Blushes the richness of an autumn sky, 

With ever-shifting beauty. Then her breath, 

It is so like the gentle air of Spring, 

As, from the morning's dewy flowers, it comes 

Full of their fragrance, that it is a joy 

To have it round us, — and her silver voice 

Is the rich music of a summer bird, 

Heard in the still night, with its passionate cadence. 



66 EARLIER POEMS. 



BURIAL OF THE MINNISINK. 



On sunny slope and beechen swell, 
The shadowed light of evening fell ; 
And, where the maple's leaf was brown, 
With soft and silent lapse came down 
The glory, that the wood receives, 
At sunset, in its brazen leaves. 

Far upward in the mellow light 
Rose the blue hills. One cloud of white, 
Around a far uplifted cone, 
In the warm blush of evening shone ; 
An image of the silver lakes, 
By which the Indian's soul awakes. 

But soon a funeral hymn was heard 
Where the soft breath of evening stirred 
The tall, gray forest ; and a band 
Of stern in heart, and strong in hand, 
Came winding down beside the wave, 
To lay the red chief in his grave. 



EARLIER POEMS. 67 

They sang, that by his native bowers 
He stood, in the last moon of flowers, 
And thirty snows had not yet shed 
Their glory on the warrior's head ; 
But, as the summer fruit decays, 
So died he in those naked days. 

A dark cloak of the roebuck's skin 
Covered the warrior, and within 
Its heavy folds the weapons, made 
For the hard toils of war, were laid ; 
The cuirass, woven of plaited reeds, 
And the broad belt of shells and beads. 

Before, a dark- haired virgin train 
Chanted the death dirge of the slain ; 
Behind, the long procession came 
Of hoary men and chiefs of fame, 
With heavy hearts, and eyes of grief, 
Leading the war-horse of their chief. 

Stripped of his proud and martial dress, 
Uncurbed, unreined, and riderless, 
With darting eye, and nostril spread, 
And heavy and impatient tread, 
He came ; and oft that eye so proud 
Asked for his rider in the crowd. 



68 EARLIER POEMS. 

They buried the dark chief; they freed 
Beside the grave his battle steed ; 
And swift an arrow cleaved its way 
To his stern heart 1 — One piercing neigh 
Arose, — and on the dead man's plain, 
The rider grasps his steed again. 



BALLADS. 



BALLADS. 



SKELETON IN ARMOUR. 

The following Ballad was suggested to me while riding on the 
seashore at Newport. A year or two previous a skeleton had 
been dug up at Fall River, clad in broken and corroded armour ; 
and the idea occurred to me of connecting it with the Round 
Tower at Newport, generally known hitherto as the Old Wind- 
Mill, though now claimed by the Danes as a work of their early 
ancestors. Professor Rafn, in the Memoires de la Societe Royale 
des Antiquaries du Nord, for 1838 — 1839, says ; 

" There is no mistaking in this instance the style in which the 
more ancient stone edifices of the North were constructed, the 
style which belongs to the Roman or Ante-Gothic architecture, 
and which, especially after the time of Charlemagne, diffused 
itself from Italy over the whole of the West and North of Europe, 
where it continued to predominate until the close of the 12th 
century ; that style, which some authors have, from one of its 



tl BALLADS. 

most striking characteristics, called the round arch style, the 
same which in England is denominated Saxon and sometimes 
Norman architecture. 

" On the ancient structure in Newport there are no ornaments 
remaining, which might possibly have served to guide us in as- 
signing the probable date of its erection. That no vestige what- 
ever is found of the pointed arch, nor any approximation to it, is 
indicative of an earlier rather than of a later period. From such 
characteristics as remain, however, we can scarcely form any 
other inference than one, in which I am persuaded that all, who 
are familiar with Old Northern architecture, will concur, that 

THIS BUILDING WAS ERECTED AT A PERIOD DECIDEDLY NOT 

later than the 12th century. This remark applies, of 
course, to the original building only, and not to the alterations 
that it subseqently received ; for there are several such alterations 
in the upper part of the building which cannot be mistaken, and 
which were most likely occasioned by its being adapted in modern 
times to various uses, for example as the substructure of a wind- 
mill and latterly as a hay magazine. To the same times may be 
referred the windows, the fire-place, and the apertures made 
above the columns. That this building could not have been 
erected for a wind-mill, is what an architect will easily discern." 
I will not enter into a discussion of the point. It is sufficiently 
well established for the purpose of a ballad ; though doubtless 
many an honest citizen of Newport, who has passed his days 
within sight of the Round Tower, will be ready to exclaim with 
Sancho ; " God bless me! did I not warn you to have a care of 
what you were doing, for that it was nothing but a wind-mill ; 
and nobody could mistake it, but one who had the like in his 
head." 



73 



" Speak ! speak ! thou fearful guest 1 
Who with thy hollow breast 
Still in rude armour drest, 

Comest to daunt me ! 
Wrapt not in Eastern balms, 
But with thy fleshless palms 
Stretched, as if asking alms, 

Why dost thou haunt me ? " 

Then from those cavernous eyes 
Pale flashes seemed to rise, 
As when the Northern skies 

Gleam in December ; 
And, like the water's flow 
Under December's snow, 
Came a dull voice of woe 

From the heart's chamber. 

" I was a Viking old ! 
My deeds though manifold, 
No Skald in song has told, 

No Saga taught thee ! 
Take heed, that in thy verse 
Thou dost the tale rehearse, 
Eise dread a dead man's curse ! 

For this I sought thee. 

" Far in the Northern land, 
By the wide Baltic's strand, 
I, with my childish hand, 
Tamed the ger-falcon ; 



74 



And with my skates fast-hound, 
Skimmed the half- frozen Sound, 
That the poor whimpering hound 
Trembled to walk on. 

" Oft to his frozen lair 
Tracked I the grisly bear, 
While from my path the hare 

Fled like a shadow ; 
Oft through the forest dark 
Followed the were-wolf s bark, 
Until the soaring lark 

Sang from the meadow. 

" But when I older grew, 
Joining a corsair's crew, 
O'er the dark sea I flew 

With the marauders. 
Wild was the life we led; 
Many the souls that sped, 
Many the hearts that bled, 
By our stern orders. 

" Many a wassail-bout 
W"ore the long Winter out ; 
Often our midnight shout 

Set the cocks crowing, 
As we the Berserk's tale 
Measured in cups of ale, 
Draining the oaken pail, 

Filled to o'erflowing. 



" Once as I told in glee 
Tales of the stormy sea, 
Soft eyes did gaze on me, 
Burning yet tender : 
And as the white stars shine 
On the dark^Norway pine, 
On that dark heart of mine 
Fell their soft splendor. 

" I wooed the blue-eyed maid, 
Yielding, yet half afraid, 
And in the forest's shade 

Our vows were plighted. 
Under its loosened vest 
Fluttered her little breast, 
Like birds within their nest 
By the hawk frighted. 

" Bright in her father's hall 
Shields gleamed upon the wall, 
Loud sang the minstrels all, 

C haunting his glory ; 
When of old Hildebrand 
I asked his daughter's hand, 
Mute did the minstrels stand 
To hear my story. 

" While the brown ale he quaffed, 
Loud then the champion laughed* 
And as the wind- gusts waft 
The sea-foam brightly, 



76 



So the loud laugh of scorn, 
Out of those lips unshorn, 
From the deep drinking-horn 
Blew the foam lightly. 

" She was a Prince's child, 
I but a Viking wild, 
And though she blushed and smiled, 

I was discarded ! 
Should not the dove so white 
Follow the sea-mew's flight, 
Why did they leave that night 

Her nest unguarded ? 

u Scarce had I put to sea, 
Bearing the maid with me, — 
Fairest of all was she 

Among the Norsemen ! — 
When on the white sea- strand, 
Waving his armed hand, 
Saw we old Hildebrand, 

With twenty horsemen. 

{( Then launched they to the blast, 
Bent like a reed each mast, 
Yet we were gaining fast, 

When the wind failed us ; 
And with a sudden flaw 
Came round the gusty Skaw, 
So that our foe we saw 

Laugh as he hailed us. 



77 



" And as to catch the gale 
Round veered the flapping sail, 
Death ! was the helmsman's hail, 

Death without quarter ! 
Mid- ships with iron keel 
Struck we her ribs of steel ; 
Down her black hulk did reel 

Through the black water ! 

" As with his wings aslant, 
Sails the fierce cormorant, 
Seeking some rocky haunt, 

With his prey laden, 
So toward the open main, 
Beating to sea again, 
Through the wild hurricane, 

Bore I the maiden. 

" Three weeks we westward bore, 
And when the storm was o'er, 
Cloud -like we saw the shore 
Stretching to lea-ward ; 
There for my lady's bower 
Built I the lofty tower, 
Which to this very hour, 

Stands looking sea- ward. 

" There lived we many years ; 
Time dried the maiden's tears 5 
She had forgot her fears, 
She was a mother ; 



78 



Death closed her mild blue eyes, 
Under that tower she lies ; 
Ne'er shall the sun arise 
On such another ! 

" Still grew my bosom then, 
Still as a stagnant fen ! 
Hateful to me were men, 

The sun-light hateful ! 
In the vast forest here, 
Clad in my warlike gear, 
Fell I upon my spear, 

O, death was grateful ! 

" Thus, seamed with many scars 
Bursting these prison bars, 
Up to its native stars 

My soul ascended ! 
There from the flowing bowl 
Deep drinks the warrior's soul, 
Skoal! to the Northland! skoal!"* 

— Thus the tale ended. 



* In Scandanavia this is the customary salutation when drink- 
ing a health. I have slightly changed the orthography of the 
word, in order to preserve the correct pronunciation. 



BALLADS* 79 



1 WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 



It was the schooner Hesperus, 

That sailed the wintry sea ; 
And the skipper had taken his little daughter, 

To bear him company. 

Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax, 
Her cheeks like the dawn of day, 

And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, 
That ope in the month of May. 

The skipper he stood beside the helm, 

With his pipe in his mouth, 
And watched how the veering flaw did blow 

The smoke now West, now South, 

Then up and spake an old Sailor, 
Had sailed the Spanish main, 
' I pray thee, put into yonder port, 
For I fear a hurricane. 



80 



" Last night the moon had a golden ring, 
And to-night no moon we see ! " 
The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe, 
And a scornful laugh laughed he. 

Colder and louder blew the wind, 

A gale from the North-east ; 
The snow fell hissing in the brine, 

And the billows frothed like yeast. 

Down came the storm, and smote amain, 

The vessel in its strength ; 
She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed, 

Then leaped her cable's length. 

" Come hither I come hither ! my little daughter, 
And do not tremble so 
For I can weather the roughest gale, 
That ever wind did blow." 

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat 

Against the stinging blast ; 
He cut a rope from a broken spar, 

And bound her to the mast. 

" O father ! I hear the church-bells ring, 

O say, what may it be ? '' 
" 'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast ! " — - 

And he steered for the open sea. 



81 



" O father ! I hear the sound of guns, 

O say what it may be ? " 
" Some ship in distress, that cannot live 

In such an angry sea ! " 

" O father ! I see a gleaming light, 
O say, what may it be ? ? ' 
But the father answered never a word, 
A frozen corpse was he. 

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, 

With his face to the skies, 
The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow 

On his fixed and glassy eyes. 

Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed 

That saved she might be ; 
And she thought of Christ who stilled the wave* 

On the Lake of Galilee. 

And fast through the midnight dark and drear, 
Through the whistling sleet and snow, 

Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept - 
Towards the reef of Norman's Woe. 

* And ever the fitful gusts between 
A sound came from the land; 
"*, It was the sound of the trampling^surf, 
i On the rocks and the hard sea-sand* 



82 BALLADS. 

The breakers were right beneath her bows, 

She drifted a dreary wreck, 
And a whooping billow swept the crew 

Like icicles from her deck. 

She struck where the white and fleecy waves 

Looked soft as carded wool, 
But the cruel rocks they gored her side 

Like the horns of an angry bull. 

Her rattling shrouds all sheathed in ice, 
With the masts went by the board; 

Like a vessel of glass, she strove and sank, 
Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared ! 

At day-break on the bleak sea-beach, 

A fisherman stood aghast, 
To see the form of a maiden fair, 

Lashed close to a drifting mast. 

The salt sea was frozen on her breast, 

The salt tears in her eyes ; 
And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed, 

On the billows fall and rise. 

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, 
In the midnight and the snow ! 

Christ save us all from a death like this, 
On the reef of Norman's Woe ! 



83 



THE LUCK OF EDENHALL. 

FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND. 

The tradition, upon which this ballad is founded, and the 
" shards of the Luck of Edenhall," still exist in England. The 
goblet is in the possession of Sir Christopher Musgrave, Bart., of 
Eden Hall, Cumberland ; and is not so entirely shattered as the 
ballad leaves it. 



Of Edenhall, the youthful Lord 
Bids sound the festal trumpet's call ; 
He rises at the banquet board, 
And cries, 'mid the drunken revellers all, 
1 Now bring me the Luck of Edenhall ! " 

The butler hears the words with pain, 
The house's oldest seneschal, 
Takes slow from its silken cloth again 
The drinking glass of crystal tall ; 
They call it The Luck of Edenhall. 

Then said the Lord ; " This glass to praise, 

Fill with red wine from Portugal ! " 

The gray beard with trembling hand obeys ; 



84 



A purple light shines over all, 

It beams from the Luck of Edenhall. 

Then speaks the Lord, and waves it light,- 
" This glass of flashing crystal tall 
Gave to my sires the Fountain- Sprite ; 
She wrote in it ; If this glass doth fall 
Farewell then^ O Luck of Edenhall ! 

" 'T was right a goblet the Fate should be 
Of the joyous race of Edenhall ! 
Deep draughts drink we right willingly ; 
And willingly ring, with merry call, 
Kling ! klang ! to the Luck of Edenhall ! "' 

First rings it deep, and full, and mild, 
Like to the song of a nightingale ; 
Then like the roar of a torrent wild ; 
Then mutters at last like the thunder's fall, 
The glorious Luck of Edenhall. 

" For its keeper takes a race of might, 
The fragile goblet of crystal tall ; 
It has lasted longer than is right ; 
Kling ! klang ! — with a harder blow than all 
Will I try the Luck of Edenhall ! " 

As the goblet ringing flies apart, 

Suddenly cracks the vaulted hall ; 

And through the rift the wild flames start j 



BALLADS. 85 

The guests in dust are scattered all, 
With the breaking Luck of Edenhall ! 

In storms the foe with fire and sword ; 
He in the night had scaled the wall, 
Slain by the sword lies the youthful Lord, 
But holds in his hand the crystal tall, 
The shattered Luck of Edenhall. 

On the morrow the butler gropes alone, 
The gray-beard in the desert hall, 
He seeks his Lord's burnt skeleton, 
He seeks in the dismal ruin's fall 
The shards of the Luck of Edenhall. 

The stone wall," saith he, " doth fall aside, 
Down must the stately columns fall ; 
Glass is this earth's Luck and Pride ; 
In atoms shall fall this earthly ball 
One day like the Luck of Edenhall ! 



86 



THE ELECTED KNIGHT. 

FROM THE DANISH. 

The following strange and somewhat mystical ballades from 
Nyrehup and Rahbek's Danske Viser of the Middle Ages. It 
seems to refer to the first preaching of Christianity in the North, 
and to the institution of Knight-Errantry. The three maidens I 
suppose to be Faith, Hope, and Charity. The irregularies of the 
original have been carefully preserved in the translation. 



Sir Oluf he rideth over the plain, 

Full seven miles broad and seven miles wide, 
But never, ah never can meet with the man 

A tilt with him dare ride. 

He saw under the hill-side 

A Knight full well equipped ; 
His steed was black, his helm was barred ; 

He was riding at full speed. 

He wore upon his spurs 

Twelve little golden birds ; 
Anon he spurred his steed with a clang, 

And there sat all the birds and sang-, 



87 



He wore upon his mail 

Twelve little golden wheels ; 
Anon in eddies the wild wind blew, 

And round and round the wheels they flew. 

He wore before his breast 

A lance that was pois' d in rest ; 

And it was sharper than diamond-stone, 
It made Sir Olufs heart to groan. 

He wore upon his helm, 

A wreath of ruddy gold ; 
And that gave him the Maidens Three, 

The youngest was fair to behold. 

Sir Oluf questioned the Knight eftsoon 
If he were come from heaven down ; 
" Art thou Christ of Heaven," quoth he, 
" So will I yield me unto thee." 

" I am not Christ the Great, 

Thou shalt not yield thee yet : 
I am an Unknown Knight, 
Three modest Maidens have me bedight." 

" Art thou a Knight elected, 

And have three Maidens thee bedight ; 
So shalt thou ride a tilt this day, 
For all the Maidens' honor! " 



88 



The first tilt they together rode 
They put their steeds to the test ; 

The second tilt they together rode, 
They proved their manhood best. 

The third tilt they together rode, 
Neither of them would yield ; 

The fourth tilt they together rode, 
They both fell on the field. 

Now lie the lords upon the plain, 
And their blood runs unto death ; 

Now sit the Maidens in the high tower., 
The youngest sorrows till death. 



CHILDREN OF THE LORD'S SUPPER, 



FROM THE SWEDISH OF BISHOP TEGNER, 



91 



[ % CHILDREN OF THE LORD'S SUPPER, 



Penticost, day of rejoicing, had come. The church of 

the village 
Stood gleaming white in the morning's sheen. On the 

spire of the belfry, 
Tipped with a vane of metal, the friendly flames of the 

Spring-sun 
Glanced like the tongues of fire, beheld by Apostles 

aforetime. 
Clear was the heaven and blue, and May, with her cap 

crowned with roses, 
Stood in her holiday dress in the fields, and the wind 

and the brooklet 
Murmured gladness and peace, God's-peace ! With 

lips rosy-tinted 



92 THE CHILDREN OF 

Whispered the race of the flowers, and merry on 

balancing branches 
Birds were singing their carol, a jubilant hymn to the 

Highest. 
Swept and clean was the churchyard. Adorned like 

a leaf-woven arbour 
Stood its old-fashioned gate; and within upon each 

cross of iron 
Hung was a sweet-scented garland, new twined by the 

hands of affection. 
*Even the dial, that stood on a fountain among the 

departed, 
(There full a hundred years had it stood,) was embel- 
lished with blossoms. 
Like to the patriarch hoary, the sage of his kith and 

the hamlet, 
Who on his birth-day is crowned by children and 

children's children, 
So stood the ancient prophet, and mute with his pencil 

of iron 
Marked on the tablet of stone, and measured the swift- 
changing moment, 
While all around at his feet, an eternity slumbered in 

quiet, t. 
Also the church within was adorned, for this was the 

season 
In which the young, their parent's hope, and the loved- 

ones of heaven, 
Should at the foot of the altar renew the vows of their 

baptism. 



THE LORD'S SUPPER. Vd 

Therefore each nook and corner was swept and cleaned, 

and the dust was 
Blown from the walls and ceiling, and from the oil - 

painted benches. 
There stood the church like a garden ; the Feast of 

the Leafy Pavilions* 
Saw we in living presentment. From nohle arms on 

the church wall 
Grow forth a cluster of leaves, and the preacher's pul- 
pit of oak-wood 
Budded once more anew, as aforetime the rod of 

Aaron. 
Wreathed thereon was the Bible with leaves, and the 

dove, washed with silver, 
Under its canopy fastened, a necklace had on of wind- 
flowers. 
But in front of the choir, round the altar-piece painted 

by Horberg,f 
Crept a garland gigantic ; and bright-curling tresses of 

angels 
Peeped, like the sun from a cloud, out of the shadowy 

leaf-work. 
Likewise the lustre of brass, new-polished, blinked 

from the ceiling, 
And for lights there were lilies of Pentecost set in the 

sockets. 



* The Feast of the Tabernacles ; in Swedish, Lo, 
hogtiden, the Leaf-huts'- high-tide. 

t The peasant-painter of Sweden. He is known chiefly by his 
altar-pieces in the village churches. 



94 THE CHILDREN OF 

Loud rang the bells already ; the thronging crowd 
was assembled 

From the valleys and hills, to list to the holy preaching. 

Hark ! then roll forth at once the mighty tones from 
the organ, 

Hover like voices from God, aloft like invisible spirits. 

Like as Elias in heaven, when he cast off from him his 
mantle, 

Even so cast off the soul its garments of earth ; and 
with one voice 

Chimed in the congregation, and sang an anthem im- 
mortal 

Of the sublime Wallin,* of David's harp in the North- 
land 

Tuned to the choral of Luther ; the song on its power- 
ful pinions 

Took every living soul, and lifted it gently to heaven. 

And every face did shine like the Holy One's face 
upon Tabor. 

Lo ! there entered then into the church the Reverend 
Teacher. 

Father he bight and he was in the parish; a christianly 
plainness 

Clothed from his head to his feet the old man of 
seventy winters. 

Friendly was he to behold, and glad as the heralding 
angel 

Walked he among the crowds, but still a contemplative 
grandeur 

* A distinguished pulpit-orator and poet. He is particularly 
remarbable for the beauty and sublimity of his psalms. 



THE lord's supper. 95 

Lay on his forehead as clear, as on moss covered grave- 
stone a sun-beam. 

As in his inspiration (an evening twilight that faintly 

Gleams in the human soul, even now from the day of 
creation) 

Th' Artist, the friend of heaven, imagines St. John 
when in Patmos ; 

Gray, with his eyes uplifted to heaven, so seemed then 
the old man ; 

Such was the glance of his eye, and such were his 
tresses of silver. 

All the congregation arose in the pews that were num- 
bered. 

But with a cordial look, to the right and to the left 
hand, the old man 

Nodding all hail and peace, disappeared in the inner- 
most chancel. 



Simply and solemnly now proceeded the Christian 
service, 

Singing and prayer, and at last an ardent discouise 
from the old man. 

Many a moving word and warning that out of the heart 
came 

Fell like the dew of the morning, like manna on those 
in the desert. 

Afterwards, when all was finished, the Teacher re- 
entered the chancel, 

Followed therein by the young. On the right hand 
the boys had their places, 



96 THE CHILDREN OF 

Delicate figures, with close-curling hair and cheeks 

rosy-blooming. 
But on the left-hand of these, there stood the tremu- 
lous lilies, 
Tinged with the blushing light of the morning, the 

diffident maidens, — 
Folding their hands in prayer, and their eyes cast down 

on the pavement. 
Now came, with question and answer, the catechism. 

In the beginning 
Answered the children with troubled and faltering 

voice, but the old man's 
Glances of kindness encouraged them soon, and the 

doctrines eternal 
Flowed, like the waters of fountains, so clear from lips 

unpolluted 
Whene'er the answer was closed, and as oft as they 

named the Redeemer, 
Lowly louted the boys, and lowly the maidens all 

courtesied' 
Friendly the Teacher stood, like an angel of light there 

among them, 
And to the children explained he the holy, the highest, 

in few words, 
Thorough, yet simple and clear, for sublimity always is 

simple, 
Both in sermon and song, a child can seize on its 

meaning* 
Even as the green-growing bud is unfolded when 

Springs tide approaches 



the lord's supper. 97 

Leaf by leaf is developed, and, warmed by the radiant 

sunshine, 
Blushes with purple and gold, till at last the perfected 

blossom 
Opens its odorous chalice, and rocks with its crown in 

the breezes, 
So was unfolded here the Christian love of salvation, 
Line by line from the soul of childhood. The fathers 

and mothers 
Stood behind them in tears, and were glad at each 

well-worded answer. 



Now went the old man up to the altar ; — and 

straighway transfigured 
(So did it seem unto me) was then the affectionate 

Teacher. 
Like the Lord's Prophet sublime, and aweful as Death 

and as Judgment 
Stood he, the God-commissioned, the soul-searcher, 

earthward descending. 
Glances, sharp as a sword, into hearts, that to him 

were transparent 
Shot he ; his voice was deep, was low like the thunder 

afar off". 
So on a sudden transfigured he stood there, he spake 

and he questioned. 



; This is the faith of the Fathers, the faith the 
Apostles delivered, 

G 



THE CHILDREN OF 

This is moreover the faith whereunto I baptized you, 

while still ye 
Lay on your mother's breasts, and nearer the portals of 

heaven. 
Slumbering received you then the Holy Church in its 

bosom ; 
Wakened from sleep are ye now, and the light in its 

radiant splendor 
Rains from the heaven downward ; — to-day on the 

threshold of childhood 
Kindly she frees you again, to examine and make your 

election, 
For she knows nought of compulsion, only conviction 

desireth. 
This is the hour of your trial, the turning-point of 

existence, 
Seed for the coming days, without revocation departeth 
Now from your lips the confession; Bethink ye, before 

ye make answer ! 
Think not, O think not with guile to deceive the 

questioning Teacher. 
Sharp is his eye to-day, and a curse ever rests upon 

falsehood. 
Enter not with a lie on Life's journey ; the multitude 

hears you, 
Brothers and sisters and parents, what dear upon earth 

is and holy 
Standeth before your sight as a witness ; the Judge 

everlasting 
Looks from the sun down upon you, and angels in wait- 
ing beside him 



the lord's supper. 99 

Grave your confession in letters of fire, upon tablets 

eternal. 
Thus then, — believe ye in God, in the Father who this 

world created ? 
Him who redeemed it, the Son and the Spirit where 

both are united ? 
Will ye promise me here, (a holy promise !) to cherish 
God more than all things earthly, and every man as a 

brother ? 
Will ye promise me here, to confirm your faith by your 

living, 
Th' heavenly faith of affection ! to hope, to forgive, and 

to suffer, 
Be what it may your condition, and walk before God 

in uprightness ? 
Will ye promise me this before God and man 1 " — With 

a clear voice 
Answered the young man Yes ! and Yes ! with lips 

softly-breathing 
Answered the maidens eke. Then dissolved from the 

brow of the Teacher 
Clouds with thunder therein, and he spake on in 

accents more gentle, 
Soft as the evening's breath, as harps by Babylon's rivers. 

" Hail, then, hail to you all ! To the heirdom of 

heaven be ye welcome ! 
Children no more from this day, but by covenant 

brothers and sisters ! 
Yet, — for what reason not children ? Of such is the 

kingdom of heaven. 



100 THE CHILDREN OF 

Here upon earth an assemblage of children, in heaven 

one father, 
Ruling them as his own household, — forgiving in turn 

and chastising, 
That is of human life a picture, as Scripture has taught 

us. 
Blessed are the pure before God! Upon purity and 

upon virtue 
Resteth the Christian Faith ; she herself from on high 

is descended. 
Strong as a man and pure as a child, is the sum of the 

doctrine, 
Which the Godlike delivered, and on the cross suffered 

and died for. 
O ! as ye wander this day from childhood's sacred 

asylum 
Downward and ever downward, and deeper in Age's 

chill valley, 
O ! how soon will ye come, — too soon ! — and long to 

turn backward 
Up to its hill-tops again, to the sun -illumined, where 

Judgment 
Stood like a Father before you, and Pardon, clad like 

a mother, 
Gave you her hand to kiss, and the loving heart was 

forgiven, 
Life was a play and your hands grasped after the roses 

of heaven ! 
Seventy years have I lived already; the father eternal 
Gave to me gladness and care ; but the loveliest h^urs 

of existence, 



THE LORD'S SUPPER. 101 

When I have steadfastly gazed in their eyes, I have 

instantly known them, 
Known them all, all again ; — they were my childhood's 

acquaintance. 
Therefore take from henceforth, as guides in the paths 

of existence, 
Prayer, with her eyes raised to heaven, and Innocence, 

hride of man's childhood. 
* Innocence, child beloved, is a guest from the world of 

the blessed, 
Beautiful, and in her hand a lily; on life's roaring 

billows 
Swings she in safety, she heedeth them not, in the ship 

she is sleeping. 
Calmly she gazes around in the turmoil of men ; in the 

desert 
Angels descend and minister unto her; she herself 

knoweth 
Naught of her glorious attendance ; but follows faithful 

and humble, 
Follows so long as she may her friend ; O do not reject her, 
For she commeth from God and she holdeth the keys 

of the heavens. — 
' Prayer is Innocence' friend ; and willingly flyeth in- 
cessant 
'Twixt the earth and the sky, the carrier-pigeon of 

heaven. 
Son of Eternity, fettered in Time, and an exile, the 

Spirit 
Tugs at his chains evermore, and struggles like flames 

ever upward. 



102 THE CHILDREN OF 

Still he recalls with emotion his father's manifold 

mansions, 
Thinks of the land of his fathers, where blossomed 

more freshly the flowers, 
Shone a more beautiful sun, and he played with the 

winged angels. 
Then grows the earth too narrow, too close ; and home- 
sick for heaven 
Longs the wanderer again ; and the Spirit's longings 

are worship ; 
Worship is called the most beautiful hour, and its 

tongue is entreaty. 
Ah ! when the infinite burden of life descendeth upon us, 
Crushes to earth our hope, and, under the earth, in the 

grave-yard, — 
Then it is good to pray unto God ; for his sorrowing 

children 
Turns he ne'er from his door, but he heals and helps 

and consoles them. 
Yet is it better to pray when all things are prosperous 

with us, 
Pray in fortunate days, for life's most beautiful Fortune 
Kneels down before the Eternal's throne ; and, with 

hands interfolded, 
Praises thankful and moved the only giver of blessings. 
Or do ye know, ye children, one blessing that comes 

not from Heaven ? 
What has mankind forsooth, the poor ! that it has not 

received 1 
Therefore, fall in the dust and pray! The seraphs 

adoring 



THE LORD'S SUPPER. 103 

Cover with pinions six their face in the glory of him who 
Hung his masonry pendant on naught, when the world 

he created. 
Earth declareth his might, and the firmament uttereth 

his glory. 
Races blossom and die, and stars fall downward from 

heaven, 
Downward like withered leaves ; at the last stroke of 

midnight millenniums 
Lay themselves down at his feet, and he sees them, but 

counts them as nothing. 
Who shall stand in his presence ? The wrath of the 

judge is terrific, 
Casting the insolent down at a glance. When he 

speaks in his anger 
Hillocks skip like the kid, and mountains leap like the 

roe-buck. 
Yet, — why are ye afraid, ye children 1 This awful 

avenger 
Ah ! is a merciful God ! God's voice was not in the 

earthquake 
Not in the fire, nor the storm, but it was in the whis- 
pering breezes. 
Love is the rock of creation ; God's essence ; worlds 

without number 
Lie in his bosom like children ; he made them for this 

purpose only. 
Only to love and to be loved again, he breathed forth 

his spirit 
Into the slumbering dust, and upright standing, it 

laid its 



104 THE CHILDREN OF 

Hand on his heart, and felt it was warm with a flame 

out of heaven. 
Quench, O quench not that flame ! It is the breath of 

your being. 
Love ialife, but hatred is death. Not Hither, nor mother 
Loved you, as God has loved you ; for 't was that you 

may be happy 
Gave he his only sen. When he bowed down his head 

in the death-hour 
Solemnized Love its triumph ; the sacrifice then was 

completed. 
Lo ! then was rent on a sudden the vail of the temple, 

dividing 
Earth and heaven apart, and the dead from their 

sepulchres rising 
Whispered with pallid lips and low in the ears of each 

other 
Th' answer but dreamed of before, to creation's 

enigma. — Atonement ! 
Depths of Love are Atonement's depths, for Love is 

Atonement. 
Therefore, child of mortality, love thou the merciful 

Father ; 
Wish what the Holy One wishes, and not from fear, 

but affection ; 
Fear is the virtue of slaves ; but the heart that loveth 

is willing ; 
Perfect was before God, and perfect is Love, and Love 

only. 
Lovest thou God as thou oughtest, then lovest thou 
likewise thy brethren ; 



THE LORD'S SUPPER. 105 

One is the sun in heaven, and one, only one, is Love also. 
Bears not each human figure the godlike stamp on his 

forehead ? 
Readest thou not in his face thine origin ? Is he not 

sailing 
Lost like thyself on an ocean unknown, and is he not 

guided 
By the same stars that guide thee ? Why shouldst 

thou hate then thy brother ? 
*Hateth he thee, forgive ! For 't is sweet to stammer 

one letter 
Of the Eternal's language ; — on earth it is called 

Forgiveness ! 
Knowest thou Him, who forgave, with the crown of 

thorns round his temples ? 
Earnestly prayed for his foes, for his murderers ? Say, 

dost thou know him ? 
Ah ! thou confessest his name, so follow likewise his 

example, 
Think of thy brother no ill, but throw a veil over his 

failings, 
Guide the erring aright ; for the good, the heavenly 

shepherd 
Took the lost lamb in his arms, and bore it back to its 

mother. 
This is the fruit of Love, and it is by its fruits that we 

know it. 
Love is the creature's welfare, with God ; but Love 

among mortals 
Is but an endless sigh ! He longs, and endures, and 

stands waiting, 



106 THE CHILDREN OF 

Suffers and yet rejoices, and smiles with tears on his 

eyelids. 
Hope, — so is called upon earth, his recompense. — 

Hope, the befriending, 
Does what she can, for she points evermore up to 

heaven, and faithful 
Plunges her anchor's peak in the depth or the grave, 

and beneath it 
Paints a more beautiful world, a dim, but a sweet play 

of shadows ! 
Races, better than we, had leaned on her wavering 

promise, 
Having naught else beside Hope. Then praise we 

our Father in heaven, 
Him, who has given us more; for to us has Hope been 

illumined, 
Groping no longer in night ; she is Faith, she is living 

assurance. 
Faith is enlightened Hope ; she is light, is the eye of 

affection, 
Dreams of the longing interprets, and carves their 

visions in marble. 
Faith is the sun of life ; and her countenance shines 

like the Prophet's, 
For she has looked upon God ; the heaven on its stable 

foundation 
Draws she with chains down to the earth, and the 

New Jerusalem sinketh 
Splendid with portals twelve in golden vapours 

descending. 



THE LORD'S SUPPER. 107 

There enraptured she wanders, and looks at the figures 

majestic, 
Fears not the winged crowd, in the midst of them all is 

her homestead. 
Therefore love and believe ; for works will follow spon- 
taneous 
Even as day does the sun ; the Right from the Good is 

an offspring, 
I Love in a bodily shape ; and Christian works are no 

more than 
I Animate Love and faith, as flowers are the animate 

spring-tide. 
Works do follow us all unto God ; there stand and bear 

witness 
Not what they seemed, — but what they were only. 

Blessed is he who 
Hears their confession secure ; they are mute upon 

earth until death's hand 
Opens the mouth of the silent. Ye children does death 

e'er alarm you ? 
Death is the brother of Love, twin-brother is he, and 

is only 
More austere to behold. With a kiss upon lips that 

are fading 
Takes he the soul and departs, and rocked in the arms 

of affection, 
Places the ransomed child, new born, 'fore the face of 

its father. 
Sounds of his coming already I hear, see dimly his 

pinions 



108 THE CHILDREN OF 

Swart as the night, but with stars strewn upon them ! 

I fear not before him. 
Death is only release, and in mercy is mute. On his 

bosom 
Freer breathes, in its coolness, my breast ; and face to 

face standing 
Look I on God as he is, a sun unpolluted by vapors ; 
Look on the light of the ages I loved, the spirits 

majestic, 
Nobler, better than I ; they stand by the throne all 

transfigured, 
Vested in white, and with harps of gold, and are sing- 
ing an anthem, 
"Writ in the climate of heaven, in the language spoken 

by angels. 
You, in like manner, ye children beloved, he one day 

shall gather, 
Never forgets he the weary ; — then welcome, ye loved 

ones, hereafter ! 
Meanwhile forget not the keeping of vows, forget not 

the promise, 
Wander from holiness onward to holiness ; earth shall 

ye heed not : 
Earth is but dust and heaven is light ; I have pledged 

you to heaven. 
God of the Universe, hear me ! thou fountain of Love 

everlasting, 
Hark to the voice of thy servant! I send up my 

prayer to thy heaven ! 
Let me hereafter not miss at thy throne one spirit of 

all these, 



the lord's supper. 109 

Whom thou hast given me here ! I have loved them 
all like a father. 

May they bear witness for me, that I taught them the 
way of salvation, 

Faithful, so far as I knew of thy word ; again may 
they know me, 

Fall on their Teacher's breast, and before thy face may 
I place them, 

Pure as they now are, but only more tried, and exclaim- 
ing with gladness, 

Father, lo ! I am here, and the children, whom thou 
hast given me ! " 

Weeping he spake in these words ; and now at the 
beck of the old man 

Knee against knee they knitted a wreath round the 
altar's enclosure. 

Kneeling he read then the prayers of the consecration, 
and softly 

With him the children read ; at the close, with tremu- 
lous accents, 

Asked he the peace of heaven, a benediction upon 
them. 

Now should have ended his task for the day ; the fol- 
lowing Sunday 

Was for the young appointed to eat of the Lord's holy 
Supper. 

Sudden, as struck from the clouds, stood the Teacher 
silent and laid his 

Hand on his forehead, and cast his looks upward; 
while thoughts high and holy 



110 THE CHILDREN OF 

Flew through the midst of his soul, and his eyes 

glanced with wonderful brightness. 
" On the next Sunday, who knows ! perhaps I shall 

rest in the grave- yard ! 
Some one perhaps of yourselves, a lily broken un- 
timely, 
Bow down his head to the earth ; why delay I ? the 

hour is accomplished. 
Warm is the heart ; — I will so ! for to-day grows the 

harvest of heaven. 
What 1 began accomplish I now ; for what failing 

therein is 
I, the old man, will answer to God and the reverend 

father. 
Say to me only, ye children, ye denizens new-come in 

heaven, 

Are ye ready this day to eat of the bread of atonement 1 
What it denoteth, that know ye full well, I have told 

it you often. 

Of the new covenant a symbol it is, of Atonement a token. 
Established between earth and heaven. Man by his 

sins and transgressions 
Far has wandered from God, from his essence. 'Twas 

in the beginning 
Fast by the Tree of Knowledge he fell, and it hangs its 

crown o'er the 
Fall to this day ; in the Thought is the Fall ; in the 

Heart the Atonement. 
Infinite is the Fall, the Atonement infinite likewise. 
See ! behind me, as far as the old man remembers, and 

forward, 



THE LORD'S SUPPER. Ill 

Far as Hope in her flight can reach with her wearied 

pinions, 
Sin and Atonement incessant go through the lifetime 

of mortals. 
Brought forth is sin full-grown ; but Atonement sleeps 

in our bosoms 
Still as the cradled babe ; and dreams of heaven and 

of angels, 
Cannot awake to sensation ; is like the tones in the 

harp's strings, 
Spirits imprisoned, that wait evermore the deliver's 

finger. 
Therefore, ye children beloved, descended the Prince 

of Atonement, 
Woke the slumberer from sleep, and she stands now 

with eyes all resplendent, 
Bright as the vault of the sky, and battles with Sin and 

o'ercomes her. 
Downward to earth he came and transfigured, thence 

re-ascended, 
Not from the heart in like wise, for there he still lives 

in the Spirit, 
Loves and atones evermore. So long as Time is, is 

Atonement. 
Therefore with reverence receive this day her visible 

token. 
Tokens are dead if the things do not live. The light 

everlasting 
Unto the blind man is not, but is born of the eye that 

has vision. 



112 THE CHILDREN OF 

Neither in bread nor in wine, but in the heart that is 

hallowed 
Lieth forgiveness enshrined; the intention alone of 

amendment 
Fruits of the earth ennobles to heavenly things, and 

removes all 
Sin and the guerdon of sin. Only Love w\th his arms 

wide extended, 
Penitence weeping and praying ; the Will that is tried, 

and whose gold flows 
Purified forth from the flames ; in a word, mankind by 

Atonement 
Breaketh Atonement's bread, and drinketh Atone- 
ment's wine-cup. 
But he who cometh up hither, unworthy, with hate in 

his bosom, 
Scoffing at men and at God, is guilty of Christ's 

blessed body, 
And the Redeemer's blood ! To himself he eateth and 

drinketh 
Death and doom ! And from this, preserve us, thou 

heavenly Father ! 
Are ye ready, ye children, to eat of the bread of Atone- 
ment ? " 
Thus with emotion he asked, and together answered 

the children 
Yes! with deep sobs interrupted. Then read he the 

due supplications, 
Read the Form of Communion, and in chimed the 

organ and anthem ; 



THE LORD'S SUPPER. 113 

O ! Holy Lamb of God, who taketh away our trans- 
gressions. 
Hear us ! give us thy peace ! have mercy, have mercy 

upon us ! 
Th' old man, with trembling hand, and heavenly pearls 

on his eyelids, 
Filled now the chalice and paten, and dealt round the 

mystical symbols. 
; ! then seemed it to me, as if God, with the broad 

eye of mid-day, 
Clearer looked in at the windows, and all the trees in 

the churchyard 
Bowed down their summits of greefi, and the grass on 

the graves 'gan to shiver. 
But in the children, (I noted it well ; I knew it) there 

ran a 
Tremour of holy rapture along through their icy-cold 

members. 
Decked like an altar before them, there stood the green 

earth, and above it 
Heaven opened itself, as of old before Stephen ; there 

saw they 
Radiant in glory the Father, and on his right hand the 

Redeemer. 
Under them hear they the clang of harpstrings, and 

angels from gold clouds 
Beckon to them like brothers, and fan with their 

pinions of purple. 

Closed was the Teacher's task, and with heaven in 
their hearts and their faces, 

H 



114 THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD'S SUPPER. 

Up rose the children all, and each bowed him, weeping 

full sorely, 
Downward to kiss that reverend hand, but all of them 

pressed he 
Moved to his bosom, and laid, with a prayer, his hands 

full of blessings, 
Now on the holy breast, and now on the innocent 

tresses. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 



* VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. 



Under a spreading chestnut tree 
The village smithy stands ; 

The smith, a mighty man is he, 
With large and sinewy hands ; 

And the muscles of his brawny arms 
Are strong as iron bands. 

His hair is crisp, and black, and long, 

His face is like the tan ; 
His brow is wet with honest sweat, 

He earns whate'er he can, 
And looks the whole world in the face, 

For he owes not any man. 



118 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Week in, week out, from morn till nighty 
You can hear his bellows blow ; 

You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, 
With measured beat and slow, 

Like a sexton ringing the village bell, 
When the evening sun is low. 

And children coming home from school 

Look in at the open door; 
They love to see the flaming forge, 

And hear the bellows roar, 
And catch the burning sparks that fly 

Like chaff from a threshing floor. 

^ He goes on Sunday to the church, 

And sits among his boys ; 
He hears the parson pray and preach, 

He hears his daughter's voice, 
Singing in the village choir, 

And it makes his heart rejoice. 



■/ 



It sounds to him like her mother's voice, 

Singing in Paradise ! 
He needs must think of her once more, 

How in the grave she lies ; 
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes 

A tear out of his eyes. 

Toiling, — rejoicing, — sorrowing, 
Onward through life he goes ; 



MISCELLANEOUS. 119 

Each morning sees some task begin, 

Each evening sees it close ; 
Something attempted, something done, 

Has earned a night's repose. 

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, 

For the lesson thou hast taught ! 
Thus at the naming forge of life 

Our fortunes must be wrought ; 
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped 

Each burning deed and thought ! 



*? 



120 MISCELLANEOUS- 



THE RAINY DAY. 



The day is cold, and dark, and dreary ; 
It rains, and the wind is never weary ; 
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, 
But at every gust the dead leaves fall, 
And the day is dark and dreary. 

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary ; 
It rains, and the wind is never weary ; 
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past, 
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast 
And the days are dark and dreary. 

Be still, sad heart ! and cease repining ; 
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining ; 
Thy fate is the common fate of all, 
Into each life some rain must fall, 

Some days must be dark and dreary. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 121 



The rising moon has hid the stars ; 

Her level rays, like golden bars, 
Lie on the landscape green, 
With shadows brown between. 

And silver white the river gleams, 
As if Diana, in her dreams, 

Had dropped her silver bow 

Upon the meadows low. 

On such a tranquil night as this, 

She woke Endymion with a kiss, 

When sleeping in the grove, 

He dreamed not of her love. 

Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought, 

Love gives itself, but is not bought ; 

Nor voice nor sound betrays 

Its deep, impassioned gaze. 



122 MISCELLANEOUS. 

It comes, — the beautiful, the free, 
The crown of all humanity, — 

In silence and alone 

To seek the elected one. 

It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep, 
Are Life's oblivion, the soul's sleep, 

And kisses the closed eyes 

Of him who slumbering lies. 

O, weary hearts ! O, slumbering eyes ! 
O, drooping souls, whose destinies 

Are fraught with fear and pain, 

Ye shall be loved again ! 

* No one is so accursed by fate, 
No one so utterly desolate, 

But some heart, though unknown, 
Responds unto his own. 

Responds, — as if with unseen wings, 
A breath from heaven had touched its strings ; 
And whispers, in its song, 
" Where hast thou stayed so long ! " 



MISCELLANEOUS. 123 



THE TWO LOCKS OF HAIR. 



FROM THE GERMAN OE PEIZER. 



A youth, light-hearted and content, 
I wander through the world ; 

Here, Arab-like, is pitched my tent 
And straight again is furled. 

Yet oft I dream, that once a wife 
Close in my heart was locked, 

And in the sweet repose of life 
A blessed child I rocked. 

I wake ! Away that dream, — away ! 

Too long did it remain ! 
So long, that both by night and day 

It ever comes again. 

The end lies ever in my thought ; 

To a grave so cold and deep 
The mother beautiful was brought ; 

Then dropt the child asleep. 



124 MISCELLANEOUS. 

But now the dream is wholly o'er, 

I bathe mine eyes and see ; 
And wander through the world once more, 

A youth so light and free. 

Two locks, — and they are wondrous fair, — 

Left me that vision mild ; 
The brown is from the mother's hair, 

The blond is from the child. 

And when I see that lock of gold, 
Pale grows the evening-red ; 

And when the dark lock I behold, 
I wish that I were dead. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 125 



IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY. 

NO HAY PAJAROS EN LOS NIDOS DE ANTANO. 

Spanish, Proverb. 



The sun is bright, — the air is clear, 
The darting swallows soar and sing, 

And from the stately elms I hear 
The blue -bird prophesying Spring. 

So blue yon winding river flows, 
It seems an outlet from the sky, 

Where waiting till the west wind blows, 
The freighted clouds at anchor lie. 

All things are new ; — the buds, the leaves, 
That gild the elm- tree's nodding crest, 
> And even the nest beneath the eaves ; — 
There are no birds in last year's nest ! 

All things rejoice in youth and love, 
The fulness of their first delight ! 



126 MISCELLANEOUS. 

And learn from the soft heavens above 
The melting tenderness of night. 

Maiden, that read'st this simple rhyme, 
Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay ; 

Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime, 
For O ! it is not always May ! 

Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth, 
To some good angel leave the rest ; 

For Time will teach thee soon the truth, 
There are no birds in last year's nest ! 



MISCELLANEOUS. 127 



EXCELSIOR. 



The shades of night were falling fast, 
As through an Alpine village passed 
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, 
A banner with the strange device 
Excelsior ! 

His brow was sad ; his eye beneath, 
Flashed like a faulchion from its sheath, 
And like a silver clarion rung 
The accents of that unknown tongue, 
Excelsior ! 

In happy homes he saw the light 
Of household fires gleam warm and bright ; 
Above, the spectral glaciers shone, 
And from his lips escaped a groan, 
Excelsior ! 

" Try not the Pass ! " the old man said ; 

" Dark lowers the tempest overhead, 
The roaring torrent is deep and wide ! " 
And loud that clarion voice replied 
Excelsior ! 



128 MISCELLANEOUS. 

" O stay," the maiden said, "and rest 

Thy weary head upon this breast ! " 

A tear stood in his bright blue eye, 

But still he answered, with a sigh, 

Excelsior ! 

" Beware the pine-tree's withered branch ! 
Beware the awful avalanche ! " 
This was the peasant's last Good-night, 
A voice replied, far up the height, 
Excelsior ! 

At break of day, as heavenward 
The pious monks of Saint Bernard 
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, 
A voice cried through the startled air 
Excelsior ! 

A traveller, by the faithful hound, 
Half-buried in the snow was found, 
Still grasping in his hand of ice 
That banner with the strange device 
Excelsior ! 

There in the twilight cold and gray, 
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay, 
And from the sky, serene and far, 
A voice fell, like a falling star, 
Excelsior ! 



MISCELLANEOUS. 129 



TO THE RIVER CHARLES. 



River ! that in silence windest 

Through the meadows, bright and free, 
Till at length thy rest thou findest 

In the bosom ol the sea ! 

Four long years of mingled feeling, 
Half in rest, and half in strife, 

I have seen thy waters stealing 
Onward, like the stream of life. 

Thou hast taught me, Silent River ! 

Many a lesson, deep and long ; 
Thou hast been a generous giver ; 

I can give thee but a song. 

Oft in sadness and in illness, 

I have watched thy current glide, 

Till the beauty of its stillness 
Overflowed me, like a tide. 



130 MISCELLANEOUS, 

And in better hours and brighter, 
When I saw thy waters gleam, 

I have felt my heart beat lighter, 
And leap onward with thy stream. 

Not for this alone I love thee, 
Nor because, thy waves of blue 

From celestial seas above thee 
Take their own celestial hue. 

Where yon shadowy woodlands hide thee, 

And thy waters disappear, 
Friends I love have dwelt beside thee, 

And have made thy margin dear. 

More than this ; — thy name reminds me 
Of three friends, all true and tried ; 

And that name, like magic, binds me 
Closer, closer to thy side. 

Friends my soul with joy remembers ! 

How like quivering flames they start, 
When I fan the living embers 

On the hearth-stone of my heart ! 

'T is for this, thou Silent River ! 

That my spirit leans to thee ; 
Thou hast been a generous giver, 

Take this idle song from me. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 131 



THE GOBLET OF LIFE. 



Filled is Life's goblet to the brim; 
And though my eyes with tears are dim, 
I see its sparkling bubbles swim, 
And chaunt a melancholy hymn 
With solemn voice and slow. 

No purple flowers, — no garlands green, 
Conceal the goblet's shade or sheen, 
Nor maddening draughts of Hippocrene, 
Like gleams of sunshine, flash between 
Thick leaves of misletoe. 

This goblet, wrought with curious art, 
Is filled with waters, that upstart, 
When the deep fountains of the heart, 
By strong convulsions rent apart, 
Are running all to waste. 

And as it mantling passes round, 
With fennel is it wreathed and crowned, 
Whose seed and foliage sun-imbrowned 
Are in its waters steeped and drowned, 
And give a bitter taste. 



132 MISCELLANEOUS, 

Above the lowly plants it towers, 
The fennel with its yellow flowers, 
And in an earlier age than ours 
Was gifted with the wondrous powers, 
Lost vision to restore. 

It gave new strength and fearless mood; 
And gladiators, fierce and rude, 
Mingled it in their daily food ; 
And he who battled and subdued, 
A wreath of fennel wore. 

Then in Life's goblet freely press, 
The leaves that give it bitterness, 
Nor prize the colored waters less, 
For in thy darkness and distress 

New light and strength they give ! 

And he who has not learned to know 
How false its sparkling bubbles show, 
How bitter are the drops of woe, 
With which its brim may overflow, 
He has not learned to live. 

The prayer of Ajax was for light ; 
Through all that dark and desperate fight, 
The blackness of that noonday night, 
He asked but the return of sight, 
To see his foeman's face. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 133 

Let our unceasing, earnest prayer 
Be, too, for light, — for strength to bear 
Our portion of the weight of care, 
That crushes into dumb despair 
One half the human race. 

O suffering, sad humanity ! 

ye afflicted ones, who lie 
Steeped to the lips in misery, 
Longing, and yet afraid to die, 

Patient, though sorely tried ! 

1 pledge you in this cup of grief, 
Where floats the fennel's bitter leaf! 
The Battle of our Life is brief, 

The alarm, — the struggle, — the relief, — 
Then sleep we side by side. 



134 MISCELLANEOUS. 



GOD'S ACRE. 



I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls 
The burial-ground God's- Acre ! It is just ; 

It consecrates each grave within its walls, 

And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust, 

God's-Acre ! Yes, that blessed name imparts 
Comfort to those, who in the grave have sown 

The seed, that they had garnered in their hearts, 
Their bread of life, alas ! no more their own. 

Into its furrows shall we all be cast, 

In the sure faith that we shall rise again 

At the great harvest, when the arch-angel's blast 
Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain. 

Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom, 
In the fair gardens of that second birth ; 

And each bright blossom, mingle its perfume 

With that of flowers, which never bloomed on earth. 

With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod, 
And spread the furrow for the seed we sow ; 

This is the field and Acre of our God. 

This is the place, where human harvests grow ! 



MISCELLANEOUS. 135 



MAIDENHOOD, 



Maiden ! with the meek, brown eyes, 
In whose orbs a shadow lies 
Like the dusk in evening skies ! 

Thou whose locks outshine the sun, 
Golden tresses, wreathed in one, 
As the braided streamlets run ! 

Standing, with reluctant feet, 
Where the brook and river meet, 
Womanhood and childhood fleet ! 

Gazing, with a timid glance, 
On the brooklet's swift advance, 
On the river's broad expanse ! 

Deep and still, that gliding stream 
Beautiful to thee must seem, 
As the river of a dream. 



136 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Then why pause with indecision, 
When bright angels in thy vision 
Beckon thee to fields Elysian ? 

Seest thou shadows sailing by, 
As the dove with startled eye, 
Sees the falcon's shadow fly ? 

Hearest thou voices on the shore, 
That our ears perceive no more, 
Deafened by the cataract's roar ? 

O, thou child of many prayers ! 

Life hath quicksands, — Life hath snares ! 

Care and age come unawares ! 

Like the swell of some sweet tune, 
Morning rises into noon, 
May glides onward into June. 

Childhood is the bough, where slumbered 
Birds and blossoms many-numbered ; — 
Age, that bough with snows encumbered. 

Gather, then, each flower that grows, 
When the young heart overflows, 
To embalm that tent of snows. 

Bear a lily in thy hand ; 
Gates of brass cannot withstand 
One touch of that magic wand. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 137 

Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, 
In thy heart the dew of youth, 
On thy lips the smile of truth. 

O, that dew, like balm, shall steal 
Into wounds, that cannot heal, 
Even as sleep our eyes doth seal ; 

And that smile, like sunshine, dart 
Into many a sunless heart, 
For a smile of God thou art. 



138 MISCELLANEOUS. 



SONG OF THE BELL. 



FROM THE GERMAN. 



Bell ! thou soundest merrily, 
When the bridal party 

To the church doth hie ! 
Bell ! thou soundest solemnly, 
When, on Sabbath morning, 

Fields deserted lie ! 

Bell ! thou soundest merrily ; 
Tellest thou at evening, 

Bed- time draweth nigh ! 
Bell ! thou soundest mournfully ; 
Tellest thou the bitter 

Parting hath gone by ! 

Say, how canst thou mourn ? 
How canst thou rejoice ? 

Thou art but metal dull ! 
And yet all our sorrowings, 
And all our rejoicings, 

Thou dost feel them all ! 



MISCELLANEOUS. 139 

God hath wonders many, 
Which we cannot fathom, 

Placed within thy form ! 
When the heart is sinking, 
Thou alone canst raise it, 

Trembling in the storm ! 



140 MISCELLANEOUS. 



L'ENVOI. 



Ye voices, that arose 

After the Evening's close, 

And whispered to my restless heart repose ! 

Go, breathe it in the ear 

Of all who doubt and fear, 

And say to them, " Be of good cheer ! " 



Ye sounds, so low and calm, 

That in the groves of balm 

Seemed to me like an angel's psalm ! 

Go, mingle yet once more 

With the perpetual roar 

Of the pine forest, dark and hoar ! 



Tongues of the dead, not lost, 
But speaking from death's frost, 
Like fiery tongues at Pentecost ; 

Glimmer, as funeral lamps, 
Amid the chills and damps 
Of the vast plain where death encamps ! 



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